


Down To Your Bones

by Moraith



Category: Persona 3
Genre: Attempted Murder, Gen, Ghosts, Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-27 02:50:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21384865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moraith/pseuds/Moraith
Summary: In the middle of an ordinary day at work, Mitsuru begins to receive text messages from a friend she thought long dead. It quickly becomes apparent that this is more of a revenge haunting situation than a heartwarming post-death reunion.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	Down To Your Bones

**Author's Note:**

> I only missed Halloween by, what, two weeks? It's fine. The world (read: I) can always use more Makoto Yuki-as-horror-movie-ghost scenarios.

The first message read, in its entirety, "Hi, Kirijo-senpai."

Mitsuru would have treated the message as little more than an annoyance rendered more annoying by the insufficiently respectful form of address were it not for the supposed sender: Makoto Yuki. Mitsuru didn't know why she had kept his number in her phone for all these years. He was dead, long dead, and they had never exchanged text messages previously, so she had no records to keep. It was nothing more than pointless sentiment. Pointless sentiment that, it seemed, some amateur hacker with a sick sense of humor and a dangerous amount of classified information intended to take advantage of.

The second message came while she was preparing to contact the intelligence department to inform them of the security breach.

"This is Makoto Yuki. I guess you probably don't have my phone number anymore," it read.

Mitsuru did not intend to dignify the messages with a response. She knew it couldn't be him. He was dead, for one thing, and for another, it was hard to imagine him, as sloppy and careless as he always was, as the type of person to maintain proper grammar when communicating in text. The thought of some hacker attempting to manipulate her emotions without even a modicum of research made her lip curl in disgust. She took a screenshot of the new messages to send along with her report. The next message came in while she navigated her way through menus to block the number, followed in quick succession by several more.

"I miss you," said the first one.  
"I miss everyone else too."  
"Do you miss me?"  
"It's dark here."  
"I don't know how long it's been."  
"Sorry. Maybe you're old now."  
"(lol)"  
"I hope Koromaru is still alive."  
"Is Koromaru still alive?"

She hovered her thumb over the block button. Somehow, she couldn't bring herself to press it. Her mouth went dry. No amount of thick swallowing around the lump forming in her throat (why? was this silly childish prank really so effective?) would set her nerves at ease.

"I think I remember Aigis crying on the roof. Did she really?"  
"I didn't mean to make her cry."  
"Did you cry, senpai?"

Mitsuru could not justify her next course of action to herself, even as her fingers moved over the keyboard. The reply was simple, no more than two words, but the mere act meant she was willing to play along with this farce. It was humiliating, like an admission of guilt.

"I did."

The prank messages stopped coming in. They had been a near-constant stream since the first one. For a moment, Mitsuru wondered if acknowledging it was enough to frighten off the person on the other end. She stared at the screen, awaiting a response. None came. She frowned at the screen, hovering her thumb over the block button once again. Ultimately, though she did not care to examine why, she did not press it. She scrolled up so her response wasn't visible and took another screenshot of the messages to amend to her report. She sent the lot along to intelligence along with a stern message warning them to be more cautious of security breaches. 

Her phone buzzed insistently in her hand, this time with a concerned message from her secretary informing her she was running late for an important meeting. She internally berated herself for allowing herself to be delayed by a spoofed text message and made for the door as quickly as she could without looking unduly flustered.

The door was locked.

Her phone buzzed again. A chill ran down Mitsuru's spine. The hair on the back of her neck stood up. As she produced her cell phone to check the notification, she swore she could feel the temperature drop.

The new message from 'Makoto' read, "Oh. You're there."

Mitsuru began to compose a response, something terse and irritable insisting whoever had infiltrated the Kirijo Group cease this nonsense, when another flurry of messages all came in at once, too quickly for any human being to be typing them.

"Why?"  
"Why didn't you do anything?"  
"Why didn't you save me?"  
"I miss you."  
"It hurt so much."  
"I was scared."  
"It still hurts."  
"It hurts."  
"I miss you."  
"Why did you leave?"  
"Are you really there?"  
"Do you miss me?"  
"Where are you?"  
"Where am I?"  
"I miss you."  
"Do you remember me?"  
"I miss you."

Mitsuru's phone was vibrating at a constant pace as dozens, then hundreds, of messages flooded in one after the other. She couldn't hope to read them all.

The air was cold enough now that Mitsuru's breath formed thin clouds with each exhale. Ice crystals began to form in the darkest corners of the room and on the already-wilting leaves of the lush decorative plants. The room was dead silent, save for the incessant buzz of Mitsuru's cell phone. She fumbled for the power button with numb trembling fingers as the number of notifications on the screen skyrocketed into the uncountable.

The power cut off. The phone went dark and silent.

Mitsuru waited a moment, keeping a cautious eye on the screen for any sign of activity. When no such thing appeared, she exhaled a quiet sigh of relief that became a heavy white cloud in the air. She ran a hand through her hair and felt ice crystals burn her fingertips.

Without so much as a touch, the phone's screen shattered. The sound of glass snapping and scraping against itself rang out and echoed against the walls, as though Mitsuru were standing in an empty warehouse and not her own cluttered office. Behind her, something had appeared, floating in the air and glowing with a gentle warm light.

Mitsuru's breath hitched in her throat. She whipped around to face the presence, half-expecting to see the ghoulish form of Death itself. What she saw was herself. Artemisia floated behind her, as strong and elegant as ever. But she had never come unbidden before. Mitsuru knew what happened to Persona-users when their Personas acted of their own accord. 

She took a step back toward the locked door, as though a few feet of distance could save her from herself. Artemisia didn't follow her. Instead, she spoke.

"I am thou. Thou art I."

Artemisia's voice had always been distorted and strange, as though she were speaking with great difficulty through some barrier. Nonetheless, Mitsuru had always known the voice under the distortion was her own. This voice was not hers. It was lower pitched, slower, lazier.

"Why did you leave me? I miss you."

Mitsuru staggered back until her back was pressed up against the frigid surface of the door. 

"Yuki, I—"

Before she could speak another word, Artemisia's hands were around her throat.

"I don't want to die," Artemisia murmured, as if in a trance. Her fingers tightened their grip until not even the thinnest wisp of air could flow past.

"I don't want to die," Artemisia murmured. Panic set in, more fully than before. Mitsuru's lungs burned. She tried to beat back Artemisia's arms, tug at her grip, but her hands passed right through Artemisia as though nothing were there at all.

"I don't want to die," Artemisia murmured. With her oxygen supply cut off, Mitsuru was too lightheaded to sustain even panic. She slumped back, her legs collapsing under her and sending her tumbling down to the floor.

She blacked out with her own fingers around her neck and a hauntingly familiar voice murmuring into her ear, one last time, at the edge of consciousness, "I don't want to die..."

* * *

When she awoke, her throat was sore and scratchy, as though she hadn't had anything to drink in days. She touched her fingers to her neck and winced. Something had left behind dark, painful bruises there. The air was chilly, but rapidly warming. The ice crystals that had formed on her eyelashes melted and dripped down, smearing her mascara onto her face and into her eyes. Her phone was on the ground, face up, screen shattered beyond repair. The plants were dead and dry.

She hauled herself to her feet, though her body felt alien and heavy. She reached for the doorknob with frostbitten fingers. With a turn of the wrist, she emerged into warmth and light and normality. She flagged down the first employee she saw, obviously distrubed by her appearance but too frightened or apathetic to question it, and had her contact the administration and inform them Mitsuru was taking the rest of the day off. It was a personal emergency, she said. It was karma, an episode, an overactive guilty conscience, she did not say, though the words were heavy on her tongue, eager to escape. 

At home, she made herself a cup of tea which did not dispel the awful chill that had settled deep in the pit of her stomach. She ordered a new cell phone and changed the number while she was at it. She imported a number of her contacts from the old device. Makoto Yuki was not among them.

**Author's Note:**

> BUT WHO WAS PHONE


End file.
